Nothing romantic about this
by SameStars
Summary: In which Phil leaves for Florida, and Dan stays at home.


**Title: **Nothing romantic about this

**Warnings: **None.

**A/N: **Drabble time, apparently! It felt relevant with Phil being away and all the speculations about Dan not being able to cope without Phil by his side. (I don't know how I feel about this at all. I don't usually ask for this, but lately I've been feeling so unsure about my writing, and I would seriously appreciate _any_ criticism. A lot.)

There's nothing romantic about the way Dan's been searching his whole being for the energy to get out of bed at 2.30 in the afternoon on the forth day since Phil left for Florida in a whirlwind of ill-concealed worry and excitement. Well, maybe in the way that he still misses Phil's presence next to him in the bed, still misses Phil's fingers resting on his neck while he sleeps, as if taking comfort in the constant rhythm; maybe it's romantic missing that even after four years of having it. But there's definitely nothing romantic about how he has tried to keep count of the positive thoughts that has gone through his head the past few days, and only reached six or so. Trying to count the negative ones would be like trying to count every star on a clear night, and quite frankly Dan's always found stargazing a bit pointless.

He's not going under because Phil's not there, though. Realistically he's not going under at all, but that's the thing with feelings – they're rarely realistic. He's going under because even though he has killed off demons one by one these past few years, some of them stick by him still. Maybe they're just resistant to the increasing confidence and the slow but steady discovery of a self worth, or maybe Dan's just become used to an existence where they're constantly present. In a sick way, maybe he needs them to be there, loves that there's at least _some_ company he can count on no matter what.

He's kept his computer open and turned on for the whole of Phil's being away, determined to not miss any possibility of a skype call. It pays off, because the little sound indicating an incoming call is what gets him out of bed in the end. He gives himself a good thirty seconds to swiftly relocate to the living room couch, tries to untangle the currently permanent state of messy curled hair, and answers the call with a headrush and a racing heart.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed." Phil comments, amused and cautious all at the same time.

"I've decided to go by Florida time as well, you know, for convenience. So I'm in fact up pretty early."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"How's Florida?"

"Hot. But nice. My mum's trying to feed me up. How's London been?"

"I _think_ it may be raining. Came as a shock to everyone."

"Is everything- are things alright with you?"

"Why wouldn't they be?"

Dan knows exactly why they wouldn't be, but he was hoping they wouldn't have to go there.

"You look kind of… haunted. It's just scaring me a bit."

Dan closes his eyes, imagining how his demons are sat on either side of him on the couch. Prodding him, wanting his attention, in no way contempt with being pushed aside when they for once have been getting Dan's full attention. He wonders if this is what going crazy is like – having your issues take imaginary but all the same actual form.

"It's not… It's not you." He states, pleading Phil to understand that part. "I mean, I miss you, and it kind of sucks not having you here when I fall asleep and wake up and when they air stupid reruns at stupid o'clock. But not to the point where you're stuck with me as someone who can't take care of himself."

"It's fine, I get it."

"Do you?"

"I won't say I understand exactly how you feel. But I get that it's not about being clingy, like you feel like you are right now, and that's why you're racking your brain of ways to make it sound like everything's okay."

If Dan averts his gaze, the way Phil's voice flows warm and soothing through speakers makes it feel like he could be next to him instead of on the other side of the sea.

"Dan, you're an expert on letting your mind wander to the worst places, and that happens no matter if I'm there or not. I wish it didn't, but we both know it does. The only difference is that now that you're alone, there's really nothing stopping it from dwelling there."

It slowly dawns on Dan how much sense lies in Phil's words. What he's experiencing isn't unique or new in any way; it's not the pathetic act of not being able to be separated from someone longer than mere hours without having a breakdown. It's what every avalanche of negative thought that he ever finds himself caught in feels like. Only difference is that there's usually something, someone, to keep him above the surface until the calamity subside. Or making sure he's in a safe place and keeping him distracted from the on-going disaster until peace has presented itself once again. That someone happens to be Phil most of the time, and god knows he couldn't have hoped for someone better to be the one who does. Seven, Dan thinks. That's seven positive thoughts.

"I do also miss you, though." He adds pensively.

Dan is kind of transfixed by the way Phil looks when he throws his head back laughing.

"I'm glad, actually."

"This wasn't as romantic as it could've been, was it?"

"Save it for when I get home. I want a stupidly romantic welcoming."


End file.
